The Day Harley Quinn Laughed
by The Smiling Shadow
Summary: Though she is his, she is not like him. He laughs real laughter, and hers is fake. He is insane, and she has to pretend. She is tired of it, and she knows if she was mad like him he would love her. So she'll go to her limit, and try to become insane.
1. The Day She Asked

First sensations come when he exclaims he has a plan. He rubs his fingers down your flesh when he shows you the schematics and genius. He kisses your neck and breaths into your chest hours before the punch line. The clothes are off by the time the trap is in motion. Climax comes in a reign of bullets, filled with laughter, painted with blood and the smell of sweat. The wind blows across her face as the car drives off and she is left to fend off the darkness, carrying a gun she worked so hard to even be able to hold. Firing, the only light in the dark, laughing as he laughs, because he laughs. This is love making on some sick level, the only level he knows, or ever will know.

Soon the sound of the car, the bullets, and the swinging of the wings soon cease, and somehow she is able to tune it out from years of practice. And all that is left is the sound of laughter, engulfing laughter until there's nothing left. And she knows this laugh, out of the many he has, this is the one she loves the most. This is the breath before the end, this is it. The laugh that means there's just two people in all the world, "you, and me, Kiddo." That laugh she lives to hear.

The Bat came for them and she shot his wings off and he drove them off. Sometimes they switch the roles but he was feeling generous that night and allowed her to shoot at the little thing. Money was made that day, some minor things stolen, nothing too big really, it's the moments before the big stuff, the playing and the toying getting used to it all over again. He doesn't even know why the Bat showed up, no one died that time, probably the fourth time in all their career.

And she's there on the bed that's always half empty. She's watching him from across the loft they've stolen by killing the owners, well he killed them, he's setting up the next plot. The next trap, counting the money and accordingly setting up a budget of what to get, hire some henchmen once more and so forth. The windows give in city light through their blinders and she sees him working by his one lone light. It's rare times like these when he's quiet. Always when he's plotting, like the sleep you get after the love, or when one partner wakes up to find the other gone. Time's like these she doesn't often dare speak, lest she break the silence that is held most precious to him since he doesn't allow it that often.

She simply waits for him to end, really hoping rather than waiting, for he never ends. There's no break, no lapse in this process, it's continual, and eternal, she just has to keep up with it all.

After a long while of laying in bed she gets up, light in her first steps, not to make too much noise she walks over to him, wiping her hand over his shoulders, unnoticed, uncared for. She continues past it, pretending like it doesn't bother her, to the bathroom.

Time for a shower, and to wash this sweat and blood away, get the gun grease off, and the find out where the new bruises are. First comes the head piece to remind her she has blonde hair, and then slowly the white make up she puts on to make him feel more comfortable, but she's beginning to believe she does it to make herself feel more comfortable. To be more like him. With that make up that doesn't come off.

Somewhere inside her sanity still lingers on, screaming at the madness of this all. She is not like him. This is all pretend for her. In second grade she was the leading role in her school play, she never knew however she could still act. For that is what she was doing, each and every day. Pretending, acting like she was like him. But under it all, her face was just covered in make up, that's all. Every now and again, especially in these quiet moments her sanity speaks up, and she looks at herself in the mirror with her real face and she can't help but want to cry.

And she wonders why it's like this. Why she stays with him even though she knows the reasons she fell in love with him were all lies. Why she stays when he hits her, when he tries to kill her because he's bored. Why, why, why did she do it?

It wasn't supposed to be like this. She had hoped when she decided to become like this, that he would change for her as she did for him. She had hoped their lives would be simpler. She had hoped she wouldn't have been pushed this far. She was younger then. She didn't want to know how to kill people, and she didn't want to know she had. But after a while when she saw her patient was never going to change she hoped that she would.

She hoped that after a long enough time to pretend and act like she was as insane as he was she'd become that. After so long of pretending to be insane she'd become insane. But in the quiet moments when her make up comes off she knows this is not true.

Her laughter is just a lie.

She's pretending for him, hoping soon he'll turn around and tell her it's okay she doesn't have to laugh if she doesn't want to. If some compassion and love would ever enter those eyes, that'll be the happiest moment of her life. But that will never come, she knows that now after the years they've been together.

He hits her.

She scars because of him.

Each she takes with a smile.

There is no greater fear, than the fear that you love somebody more than they love you.

She wondered sometimes in her saner moments if a man such as he could ever love. And her love blinded her, made her keep hoping that someday he'd hug her and hold her and kiss her. Hoping one day bullet fire would not be their intimate moments. She hoped and hoped, and that is why she stayed with those beatings and murders and laughter. She just wanted to be loved and to love.

But she could not do that as she was. Sanity inside her. She believed that if she was truly mad, if she was truly like him he'd love her, for they would become equals unlike ever before. This was the belief she held so dearly onto. One day she'll be like him, and he'll love her for it. But she was impatient, staring at her face, so impatient. And she wanted so much to be like him, to be loved by him, and she knew only he could do that.

Underneath it all she was still that psychologist giving a treatment to herself. Trying to figure out a way to cure herself.

One hopeful thought coming to her. Amongst all those whys, there was that one single question, why did he still keep her?

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After the shower she put on that make up again and that hat, and walked out in her most attractive pajamas that a regular man would have died for. She crept closer to him and he maintained that atmosphere of not even noticing her. She waited for ten minutes seeing if he'd look at her, but he didn't and she was forced to speak.

"Puddin'?" She pushes out before she loses the courage to speak.

He doesn't notice her, a grin begins to come over his face as he stares at his plans.

"Puddin'?" She tries again.

"What!?" He screams. "I heard you the first time!" He throws some trash towards her.

"I know you're busy, you know?" She says. "But I was just wondering, you know, for the best, for both of us. I was just hoping…you could…maybe…you know, make me like you a little more?"

Even in the dark she sees his baffled expression, as if she's said a joke that he doesn't get. He gets angry whenever that happens and she's preparing for a fight once again, to take some beatings and give a couple of her own, but he pauses longer than usual. He seems to be in a very rare state of confusion, pausing to choose the many words he knows very carefully.

"What do you mean?" He asks.

"I mean, you know, like, crazy and stuff." She says.

Finally words are found but their difficulty shows in his voice.

"Why would you want that…?" Comes out.

"Cause…I don't know, I think it'd be nice." She says.

Silence once more, and in the dark the water of his eyes shine, while the rest remains black and soulless, unmoving, unfeeling. Until a burst of laughter parts his lips, and she knows this laugh, this is the laugh she hates the most. The one that makes her want to die. The one that goes on and on and asks "Stupid kid, why'd you ever think that?"

He pants trying to breath between his laughs. Spit dribbles from his red smiling mouth, unable to contain himself. The very idea of her like him, he just couldn't even imagine. It was such a funny joke he didn't know why he never came up with it. It was just so funny, so very, very funny.

And she stood there waiting until it ended, and when he noticed she had not left he stopped.

"Oh, you're serious." He said with disappointment. "For a moment there I thought you'd developed a sense of humor for once." He laughs a little.

"Come on, Mr. J!" She squealed. "Please!"

"Wait, now I can't tell if you're joking again."

"I'm not joking!"

"Good cause it isn't funny anymore."

"Please!"

"All right now it is funny again!"

He laughed and laughed and laughed, and she died a little inside.

She went to bed alone, falling asleep to that laughter.

And in the morning she felt him poking her with a stick. She moved and turned over to open her eyes, smeared make up all the sheets, to see her man in the shadows smiling that smile that meant he'd done something good.

"I've got a plan." He said.

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Next Chapter: The Day She Cried

I usually do long chapters, but I'm going to lean towards shorter ones for this story that will probably be around…five or six chapters long, short and sweet you know?


	2. The Day She Cried

He had boyish laughter and excitement when he showed her. Like children have when they show their mother the cup they made in school, wanting only praise for their trials. He jumped up even, clapped his hands, and went "Weee!" like a boy. She briefly remembers why she loves him before he ruins it. He stops his cheers and then from all that jumping stands. He stands straight over the table, his hands behind his back, and his head lowered, looking at her with an evil grin no man should ever be able to do. The child likeness leaves, leaving that madman she remembers he is.

"Well?" He asks.

"Oh, right."

She looks down at his plans, but she doesn't see anything. She sees white scribbles over blew papers. Arrows leading across the page pointing to more scribbles. There appears to be writing, vague things that look like letters, but the words blend together, and follow and invisible slope as the flow across the page. Numbers align crooked graphs and there's a money sign somewhere in it. And at the very center a funny cartoon of a Batman with Xs for eyes.

This is how all his plans look.

She laughs a fake laugh for him.

"Looks great, puddin'! I think it's the best one yet! Do I get a gun this time?" She smiles.

"Well of course dear, what are you without your bazooka?"

"Oh!!! The bazooka this time! How hilarious!"

"I know, right!?

He laughed and she laughed for him.

"Okay!" He slammed his hands down on the desk with a serious tone, that of a murderer. "I need you to go to the store, you need to get me a hundred dozen eggs, some cake mix, but not for the eggs. Some Sun Laundry Detergent, coat hangers, lots and lots of coat hangers, a book of exactly 421 pages no more no less, twelve get better soon cards, apples, baking soda, and more laundry detergent."

He knew she could not read his plans, and he knew she had no idea what he meant by all these things. Sometimes he'd forget but remember, this was the way he worked, the method in all that madness, things firing off all at once and he is left to interpret it all. A thousand voices called forth and all of them were his own. He even made those voices sing sometimes, when his thinking was most clear. Often times however these voices in his head argued, and he quite enjoyed this, it was a funny thing to listen to. He sometimes wondered how he ever thought with all those voices speaking out but he forgot about that thought and moved on with his life.

About an hour later Harley was robbing a store. Like a wife she mused going to the super market. She threw some bombs around to make everyone leave and sooner or later she was riding down the aisles on the shopping cart humming a song she'd heard on the radio. And often as shopping wives do, thought about her life. She smelled smoke in the air and wondered if that was all she was going to have.

She found a book of 422 pages, she ripped out one page.

The actually creation of the trap was the most tedious part of the entire thing. Often times she'd be sitting in the corner as the Joker disguised himself as a rather eccentric normal sane person to boss around his hired hands. He used to be able to do this without the disguise but less and less people were willing to work with a man who killed out of whim. But the hands, the workers were necessary. Joker was an artist with big art pieces, he could never accomplish it on his own. He actually liked pretending to be sane, confessing sometimes it was like getting back into an old pair of really comfortable shoes, joking then he'd never actually felt that feeling as he doesn't own any old shoes.

Currently the Joker sat with Harley on a balcony of a warehouse they had obtained through unseen methods by Joker. He took on such a serious face during these times very worried somehow the help wouldn't listen to him and mess everything up. He sat one leg over the other, elbows resting at his sides, and fingertips meeting before his face. His chin leaned up and a grin came over his face as he stared down at them, at his creation. Slowly and ever now and again he'd chuckle.

"You're quiet." He said with spite. "Why are you so quiet? Come on, speak up!" He turned to Harley.

Harley turned afraid, and frowned then quickly smiled a fake smile but found nothing to say.

"Urgh, fine. You be that way." He told her.

"Puddin…" She tried.

He smiled really joyful and turned back to her, glad she had something to say.

"Yeah!?" He asked.

"Nothing…"

She got scared and couldn't finish. He seemed really disappointed but scooted his chair closer to hers and smiled.

"You know, I think you're really going to like this one." Joker tells her. "I can feel it!"

"Yeah?"

He nods enthusiastically.

"If Robin comes I want you to really knock it to him! The little brat, really give it to him, okay?" He nods and laughs.

"But he's just a kid, puddin', I always sort of roll my punches with him."

"Blah! Don't! Little bugger doesn't deserve it, trying to get the Bats attention away from me! How could he, you know? Ah, well, when the show begins I'm the one with Batman's attention!"

He throws out his arm and laughs.

"You know it's the time between these things that just kills me, just really kills me." He says, lying his chin on his hand. "You ever wonder 'What is Batman doing right now?' I do, I do all the time, he's probably off doing something with somebody else, thwarting someone else's plans! Blah, it just makes me sick."

"You think?" Harley asked shyly.

"Well of course! What else would Batman be doing? I'm always trying to kill him! Stupid kid, of course, of course." He nods.

He seems to oddly get quieter when times are quiet. He gets more excited as excitement heightens. And when the bullets start flying he enters that crazed set. He seemed a slave of the current events, only able to react to the now. It was an exhausting thing to go through for her, she often tried to just copy him but her attempts were failing. He'd laugh and she'd be sad from something that happened a few hours ago that he had by then completely forgotten. She couldn't understand it, she didn't get it. It was this that made her so afraid that at times he'd have the ability to kill her forgetting that at another point in time he loved her, or whatever it is he feels for her that isn't negative.

"Puddin, remember that joke I told a few nights ago?" She asked crossing her legs in nervousness.

"Hm, no? You told a joke?"

"The one where I asked if you could make me like you…?"

He stared for a moment and laughed. Laughed harder and harder until the help below them gave notice. He coughed and told them to continue, yelling at them.

"No, I don't, but that's a good one!" He told her.

"What if I was serious?"

Joker stopped his laughing and for a moment actually seemed to think about it. But before he could interject she spoke up again.

"Did you ever love somebody Mr. J?"

He smiled but not in a crazy way not in that usual way. It was a smile rarely seen on his face, it was a small smile, a content smile. A smile as if he was in a nostalgic moment remembering something that was nice. His eyes closed and he turned to her with that content smile, and smacked her in the face, causing her to fall out of that chair. She rose up with him leaning his chin on his hand again with that smile.

"Kid, you just don't talk about those things." He told her. "Love's a complicated funny thing, you'll learn that someday."

He chuckled under his breath and turned back to watch the help.

It wasn't long before the trap was set. This was his favorite part the taunting of Batman, the luring, like a fish in water. It was a game they seemed to play that Harley was often let out to watch. Some sort of sign was put in the sky the equivalent of a proposal for a date, meet me here, at this time, and such. And like any good gentleman Batman follows through and comes.

He laughed louder and louder as the hours ticked by and it came closer and closer to their little play time. He held Harley tighter and tighter in a manner that was almost lovingly. He put his arm around her hip and made her rest her head on his shoulder, and bit her ball at the end of her hat and pulled it down causing her to fall off balance and laugh. He played with her then, closer to fun time, he tickled her, and kissed her forehead like one does to a child. She loved it, she loved every moment of it, she sucked it in knowing it would end soon, knowing abuse would come after all this. A part of her knew this was unhealthy, sanity peeked once more and told her as she wrapped her arms around him and put her leg around his waist, that this was not the way one should be loved. This is not how you love a person. But these moments, where they were like two children on summer break, these moments filled her with so much hope.

Batman fell from the sky, the trapped was started. Laughing gas, smiling poison, fire, guns, the works. This one was a big one, this one was huge, and Joker was right, she did like it. She really did and a part of her did not like that idea. Their love making began steadily, slowly, the violence intensified and grew, he held her tighter, he laughed with her.

"Darling!" Joker cried out to Batman. "You've come at last!"

But something went wrong. She shot her bazooka and it missed, and something went wrong. Batman went into the darkness and the fires spread outside their parameters. Until all around them there were flames. The trap failed, the death of Batman would not come that night, relief would not come that night. If only she thought, if only he were dead, if Batman were dead she'd have the Joker to herself then. There'd be no more obsessions, there'd be nothing but she and him and left, he'd have to love her then.

Heat from the flames made her face sweat off the white make up and she ran up to Joker and watched as he smiled. She wrapped her arms around him and he stood stiff not moving and not moving his eyes from a point in front of him. He didn't want to look at her, he didn't even want to look at her without that white face.

But then his smile shortened and he leaned his head over hers, still not looking at her.

"I always liked you, kiddo, in that crazy 'I'd kill her last' sort of way." He told her. "I just wanted to use you when we first met, but your name put a smile on my face, truly, and you just kept sticking around. You know I lied to you. About my childhood I mean."

With that he pushed her aside somewhat gently, just pushed her away and began walking into the darkness. He went deeper in until she could no longer see them and she started after him, coughing as she ran, crawling under the smoke.

And then she stopped. Before she saw her Joker, the Joker standing in front of the Batman, a giant black shadow with white glowing eyes. Joker was talking to him about something, finally pointing and laughing, resting his head on Batman's chest. Batman grabbed his hand and appeared to break his wrist. Batman lifted him into the air and began choking him. Joker punched Batman causing him to drop the Joker, who kicked up causing Batman to stumble. They went further into the dark and then she heard a gunshot and she smiled.

It was over, it was finally over, Batman was done.

But then she shivered, she knew Joker didn't want to have the Batman go out like that, he said it lacked theatrics, substance, depth.

She screamed and ran towards the noise and found Joker lying on the floor, bleeding. She grabbed him and lifted his head but could not tell if he was breathing or not in all the chaos. She felt the blood on her knees and touched his lip sand felt the blood even through her glove.

She began to cry but you couldn't hear from the fire. She felt for his chest and found it rose and fell with heavy weight to it and after a while it stopped. She screamed and put her lips to his to breath air into his lungs but she was crying too much to get a good breath. She was left then, to hold him in her arms. Hold him tightly. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to feel. The man she loved laid there, but the man who had turned her into something she was not was there too. A great joy was taken from her as well as a great weight. But over all emotions overtook her, a love she had so depended on filled her, and all she could do was cry.

Joker was dead.

Batman took his body right out of her arms.


	3. The Day She Fought

She'd made her way home afterwards. That so called home, walking across the city in the dead of night and in the alleyways to not be noticed. Batman didn't come for her, he took her Joker and left, she wasn't important enough to catch, not even important enough to save. She was in a state of shock, not only was her skin slightly burnt, and her lungs on fire, but everything that was her world was gone. She gave up her life, her friends, her family, her career, for something that was gone. She almost didn't believe it, he's staged his death before, so has Batman, they've died at least three times previously. But before she'd be there, she was told, she'd help drag his living body out of there. This time though, Batman left with it, he took it, he took the body.

There wasn't going to be a funeral, there wasn't going to be a final goodbye. This was the thing that made the tears come.

Never would he laugh again. That wonderful laugh, that laugh only she heard, that laugh of such utter joy, an innocent laugh, a pure laugh.

She crept through the window of their stolen loft, their current home, cold and barren having not lived there for days. She didn't bother to turn on a light but merely sat on the floor for the longest time. She was always a romantic person, a girl believing in that dream that one day you'll find the person you love. You'll be able to depend on them and give them everything you are because they will do the same. Fairy tale love, she still believed in it. Why she fell in love with a psychotic and decided that was how their love was going to be she could never know.

She crawled to a suitcase that was his, where he kept the very little he owned, he didn't believe in materialism, he didn't think it was necessary. He had a few suits and often threw old ones out after one use and simply stole new ones. She found only a suit, and some guns, and some gadgets, and poisons, and she took that suit and she held it, and she could smell him on it. It was soft but worn out and she could smell him, the conditioner he used (which was actually hers), and the lipstick he used, and the poisons he made.

It's a strange thing to have everything you ever loved taken away. She had so solely devoted herself to him, an unconditional love, and unwavering loyalty, despite everything, despite her doubts and her sanity all she really wanted was to be with him. And now, it was gone. She was left with nothing, absolutely nothing. She felt there was nothing she could have done but cry and perhaps die, there was no solution, no way out. There would be no final punch line.

Such hopelessness to want death, to call to it in the tears. But she laid there and cried and was disappointed to find she did not die. Perhaps she wasn't sincere enough, perhaps she even failed at dying, like she had failed to understand him.

It wasn't always that bad she told herself. There were times, those wonderful times, when the world was calm and so he was calm. When Batman had been gone for a while, and for a moment he seemed like he'd forgotten. Those moments when he'd look at her with almost a need for her, when they'd dance, and play, and talk. When she wasn't afraid to be with him, when he wasn't killing someone. It wasn't all bad. There were good times in between it all, and in the end what else could she have expected, what else could she have asked for from him?

The more she thought about it the more she felt that she was the one who being unfair to him, asking so much of him. It was the Joker after all, the Clown Prince of Crime, that guy on the television who had murdered so many the count was lost, that guy she used to attempt to treat. What would he know about love, what would he know about actually feeling something like that? She thought it must have been a struggle for him, even to sit next to her, it must have been a fight for him to allow himself to even have an affection for her.

Or at least that's what she thought.

He said he lied to her about his childhood. That was the main reason they fell in love, or she fell in love. He told her his father hit him all the time, sometimes for no reason at all, and it was a lie. But why did he tell her? Did he somehow know it was coming?

He always knew things like that, like a child he never told her. He often did that, treat her like a child, protect her from things like that.

He never hit that hard, she told herself.

He knew she'd find her way back to him, that's why he didn't come get her at Arkham.

He knew, he knew.

And now he was gone. Nothing, she had nothing, she was nothing. She was nothing but a woman pretending to be crazy for a man who was dead, and who did not have the capacity to really love her. Because of Batman, because of that man in that dumb costume. He did this, he took Joker from her, when he was alive and now when he was dead. If he was gone, if Batman was just gone, Joker, he would've loved her, he would have nothing to distract him. He would have become sane, but no, now he's dead, because of Batman.

She had nothing else to lose.

So she decided she'd kill Batman. She go up to him, right up to him, and shoot him in the head. It lacked theatrics, it lacked that triumph Joker wanted so much, but she realized she was not the Joker, she was not him, and she was not at all like him. She never was, it was all an act, and there was no use trying to kid herself now that he was gone. It'd be quick and simple then she'd leave, she'd go away, leave Gotham.

So that's what she was going to do. Nothing else to lose, no reason she shouldn't.

So she got up and she went to the bathroom with a pair of scissors. She got in a cold shower to wash off the blood and the sweat and the make up. And then she laid her long blonde hair in front of her face, and she began cutting it. She cut it between ear length and shoulder length, it was uneven in places and she didn't care. She butchered her hair, and put it down the drain. And when it was dry she dyed it green. It too was an uneven dye, doing it by herself on the brink of tears caused her to lose focus often. Patches seemed to show her blonde hair, and patches seemed dark green almost black. But she didn't care. She put on that suit that was left over, though a little big for her, she sewed it together so at least she could move around in it. She got the poisons and put them in the bombs, not really sure what she was doing, only remembering how he did it before. And then days later she put white make up on her face, and made a smile with red lipstick.

She went to the rooftop and launched a rocket she'd found, a little firework that hardly lit up the sky, but at least got her some attention. She started firing her guns and what was left of her bazooka. She let out little bombs all around and then she simply waited. No one was in real danger, she didn't care for other people, she was only going to kill one man that night.

He came hours later, as if she were a mere after thought. He went to the source of the bombs where she hid from him in the shadows, so like Batman did. Batman crept along as this hideous black figure in the night, she stared at him for a good long time, wanting to get a good look at him, to see him, to remember this night.

She fired a gun at him, scraping his arm and causing him to scream only slightly.

"Joker…?" He asked for a moment.

But then she jumped and kicked him in the face.

"You know I'm not him!" She screamed.

In his suit, with green hair, a red smile, and a look of utter hate, she looked so much like him.

"You know I was never him!" She put her knee into his ribs.

Ideally she mused, she was to break his ribs and stab them into his lungs so he'd suffocate all on his own. Then shoot him in the head. Shoot him in the face until he no longer had a face. So no one in the world would know who he was. So forever would this man that stood before her only be Batman. In the quiet times, she'd wonder about this man, why he was so devoted to stopping people like her, people like the man she loved. She was not like the Joker. She did not believe this man only fought others, and stopped crimes. She believed that behind those white and soulless eyes was a man with a past and a future. She believed he was a man with desires and longings. The way her Joker spoke of him it was like he was speaking about a God, and intangible being that only he deserved to kill, that it was his destiny, his purpose to follow and to kill. Batman was his white whale, and she wondered sometimes, if it was the same the other way around.

But she knew, she knew he was but a man under it all. Under that black mask, and cape that could have been the very night, she knew he was but a man. And under those white eyes she stared into was pain as she punched him in the jaw. And because she knew he was but a man, with love, and pain, she could not understand why he could hurt her so much as he did.

He finally punched at her, swinging her back just from his might. Her jaw swung and she knew she had probably cracked a tooth. But as she laid on the ground, rising to look up at him, neither of them moved. He did not speak to her, he never spoke, she hardly could recall the sound of his voice. All she knew of him were screams and grunts, and whenever he screamed at her Joker it was all drowned out by Joker's laughter. He only stared, this terrible thing looking down at her.

What must you be thinking, she wondered, as you look at me. As he looked at her, looking so much like the Joker. A painted on smile hiding her frown. She wondered for a moment if he even knew what he had done, what he had taken from her, all these years.

She was not the one Joker loved. He loved Batman.

He did not devote all he was to her, but to Batman.

She made the next move, spinning on her hands, to kick him in the face. He grabbed at her legs and swung her to the ground. She jumped and uselessly punched him in the chest. He grabbed her fist and began to squeeze it until she screamed. She spat in his face as he stared at her. He threw her to the ground again, as if hoping she'd stop all this. But she went and she grabbed at his cape, she pulled at it and swung around to his front, blinding him. She laughed a laugh so similar to his as she watched Batman run around, blinded by his own cape. He finally tackled her in his blindness, and rose with her on his shoulders, pull at his mask. He pulled back and she could not ripped it off. So she kicked him in the head before jumping off.

The fight was not pretty. Not pretty at all. All those times she had watched Joker and Batman fight, it was more like a ballet. Like a twisted dance when they fought, when toys and gadgets were put aside and the two men only used there hands. There was an elegance to it that she did not have. This fight they had now, was rotten and dirty, bloody, clumsy, nothing like she had seen.

"Stop this." He said.

His voice sent chills down her spine. How could her Joker stand right in front of him and laugh at his face without becoming terrified she wondered. But then it struck her, maybe he was afraid, maybe he was always afraid.

His voice was deep, and gurgled, she could tell he was putting up a front. But still, that terrible voice, almost inhuman.

But then she merely took a vile from the jacket pocket and threw it at his face. He screamed and she knew he had been cut, but as soon as the vile broke a gas came from it. Not a laughing gas, she honestly hated that gas, she hated hearing people laugh themselves to death, and not that smiling one either, she hated that one too. This one, he never used, a simple stunning gas that would paralyze once inhaled.

And so after a coughing fit he fell over and did not move.

She circled around him, looking down at him, the helpless bat, she must have torn off his wings. She bent down and touched that face with her gloves, and she kissed him on the cheek.

Joker had loved him, loved him so much he wanted to kill him. And so she kissed him, like it would bring her closer to Joker.

Then she took out her gun and pointed it at his face.

But she didn't shoot him.

She ran away, crying.

-------------------

Next Chapter coming soon: The Day She Screamed


	4. The Day She Screamed

Run.

Run.

Just run.

Keep running.

Until you heave in death.

And your legs stop moving.

And your vision goes dim.

Just keep running.

She ran, and ran, and ran, and ran. She kept running until the surroundings became unfamiliar and the common scent of a home had left her. She had jumped on rooftops until she could no longer, and continued on the ground running. She ran and ran past the night owls and the men and women finishing up their partying nights. She ran past the clubs of the youth in love, and the drunk and sinful.

She ran and heard past her people scream "The Joker!" If only, she thought, if only, if only, if only…

She didn't know if he had followed her this entire time, and she didn't know how long she had been running anyway. She only knew to go to run. She didn't know entirely why, but just run. And then the day was coming, and you could see the sun rising. Only then did she stop. There she climbed a fire escape and broke into an apartment. There a man laid sleeping, he screamed when he saw her. She pointed the gun at him and an hour later she had tied him up in the kitchen and given him sleeping drugs her Joker had left behind and never used.

She slept in his bed, and when he awoke the next day she was gone, make up merely smeared on his sheets and bathroom counter.

She refused to take off his clothes, so long as they kept his smell she couldn't bear to leave them in some dumpster. So she walked the back alleys unsure of where to go from there, clutching onto his purple jacket as if she were really clutching onto him.

She had him, Batman, and she couldn't do it. She looked down at those lifeless eyes, and knew behind them was merely a man. A man who had love and pain and desires. Just a man. Just a man. Killing was so much easier when Joker was with her. But with her, just her and Batman. She couldn't do it. Perhaps the sanity in her knew the world was better with him, perhaps there was a part of her thankful for what she had taken from her. With Joker gone she was free, and yet so very trapped.

She found it strange how no one knew yet. True it had been merely two days, but the death of the Joker, the clown prince of crime, would be advertised. It would be shown, Batman finally defeats this madman, this killer of men, women, and children alike, this thing that was dragged out of hell into this city. There would be celebrations she thought. Even in his death it would be a party, it would be huge, all the attention of the city would be on him, even in death. And yet there was nothing. Perhaps the Joker and she were wrong. Perhaps the world did not know him as well as they thought.

Then she shuddered on the idea that Batman had not told anyone yet. She shuddered at the idea of what he was doing to the body, if not advertising. She didn't think anything too terrible, she didn't think that was an option, but then she couldn't imagine. Was her Joker hung on a wall as some trophy? Other villains, like Ivy, used to tell her about that so called Bat Cave. Where the defeated of their kind were shown as trophies to Batman, as a reminder of his accomplishments. Like animals their failures were put up as trophies.

A desire to kill him rose and fell.

She was too tired to kill anyone. Too emotionally exhausted.

She failed. All she did was fail.

She began to believe it was somehow her fault he was dead. It was her fault she didn't get his body. It was her fault his killer went on. It was her fault she didn't have a proper plan to kill that Bat. It was her fault, it was always going to be her fault.

She heard sirens and she ran.

Arkham, if they caught her they'd take her there. She hated that place. She hated it so much her gut turned inside her when she thought she was going there for that one moment. Joker, he'd laugh at her, her fear, he said he used Arkham as downtime. Sometimes after a defeat, he'd smile and say, "Vacation time!" meaning all along some time to go spend at Arkham, to plan, to think. She hated everything about that place. She couldn't go see Joker, for one because of all the security around him. She herself over time gained more and more security, she could no longer run around. Not only that but whenever he'd escape, whenever Joker would get out, he'd just leave her behind.

But worst of all, hearing those people scream at night, those madmen. She could still diagnose them. She could tell them apart by their times of screams, like appointments. They went on and on, and she knew they weren't getting properly treated, when she could have fixed them, and helped them so easily. There in Arkham, all alone, she was herself again.

She was disgusted whenever that happened. She wasn't supposed to be that way anymore. That was the problem she was never supposed to be that way anymore. She was supposed to be like him. All she ever wanted was to be like him. He'd love her, he'd love her, she knew it, she knew it.

She didn't eat, she didn't stop. She just kept going aimlessly, hoping a train of thought would come to her. But she kept self diagnosing herself, lecturing herself on what went wrong, but was not focused on the current, on what she could do now. She thought of her family and her life that she left behind.

She thought of him.

And when the night came, he came. She heard the sound of thunder in her ears, the sound of bat wings flapping. She screamed as she looked up to see nothing but the dark. She looked and looked, but starving does not help one's eyes. Finally she saw those glowing white eyes and she ran again. Always running, always running. She wasn't going to fight him, she wasn't going to kill him. But he was going to fight her, he was going to take her to Arkham, and this time she'd never get out. Joker wouldn't be there, he wouldn't cause enough chaos to help her escape. She'll be left alone with the madmen and her sanity haunting her.

The buildings lessened, and Batman was being forced to join her on the ground. She ran into a fence, and easily climbed and jumped over it. Apparently she was running into some closed off factory, and she watched as this darkness surrounded the fence. The Batman. He was like a humanoid shape night, darkness running along the ground, chasing her. A monster.

A horror came upon her, that she was not going to be able to outrun him.

She'd hide.

Yeah, that's what she'd do, she'll hide. She and the Joker use to play that.

So she ran into that factory, and found it surprisingly unattended, rather men were replaced by machines. Easily she bounced off the walls past any security, as the darkness known as Batman silently followed her with ease. She tried so hard, ever acrobatic move she knew to get away she used. She had always been stretchy, she had always been able to do flips. But when he met her, the Joker, he'd hit her until she got better. She was on a gymnastics team, but found that gymnastic routines were not the same as kicking someone in the jaw as she flipped.

He'd hit her, because he wanted her to get better, so she could defend herself.

He did it cause he cared about her.

Finally she looked back and she found no one following her. She gasped as she heard the sound of fluttering bat wings behind her. She turned but saw nothing. He was above her, that was it, he was sending echoes through out the metal walls above her, swinging on the above pipes. Must have been up at least a hundred feet.

The Factory was making chemicals and it was making her eyes burn.

The fluttering of wings. And then an awful laugh.

That voice, actually laughing, a horrible deep thing. She almost didn't recognize it as a laugh.

"Poor little thing." The Batman said. "You just don't know what to do with yourself with out him do you?"

Laughter.

"He wasn't dead." Batman continued. "He coughed and he gagged up blood for at least an hour. I laid him on the ground amongst the rats. And I watched for another three hours as he died."

"Shut up!" She screamed.

"His white flesh was so burnt."

"Shut up!"

"He told me your name…"

"STOP IT!" Tears strolled down her face.

"He screamed it. He wanted you."

"I said STOP IT!"

"Harley…Harley…he called. 'Where's Harley?' He'd ask me. 'She is gone.' I'd tell him. 'But where has she gone?' He'd ask me."

She was shaking her head, and she felt to her knees.

"Please, please just stop it." She cried.

"He had lost so much blood he was delusional. 'She must come back.' He said. 'I want to see her, she must come back.'"

"Please…"

"Her name puts a smile on my face, he said."

Her Joker. Joker, he had called to her in those final moments. She was so stupid she couldn't even tell that he wasn't dead. She could have fought for him, she could have taken him a way. God she could have saved him. He called to her and she wasn't there. He wanted her and she just wasn't there.

"And then the rats began to eat at him." The Batman laughed.

"MONSTER!"

She fired her gun at darkness, achieving nothing, and only making Batman laugh harder. His laugh more terrifying than the Joker's. Men like him, creatures like him are not meant to laugh. They should never laugh. His laugh made her freeze up, his horrible laugh. He just wouldn't stop.

She could not stand. She could not fight. Pathetically, all she could do was cry. There was never any other man in her life. There was never any other person in her life that made her feel like he did. Despite all of it, there was no one else that made her feel as special, or as warm.

"He did not even die laughing." Batman said. "How anticlimactic."

Then Batman landed before her. The monster, the dark landed before her. No more bullets left in her gun, and no bazooka in sight. She crawled on the floor backwards, as this darkness seem to glide over the floor, Batman came towards her still.

Screaming, she finally ran and climbed up a ladder trying to escape. She turned to run but found she was on the rim of an open chemical vat.

And Batman had already gotten in front of her.

"If you want to bleach your skin, my dear, that will do it." Batman told her. "And then some."

Neither of them moved for a moment. Then he slightly arched forward, sending Harley jumping a step back closer to the chemical vat below. She looked down below her, and then up at Batman.

"So, are you gonna do it?" He asked her.

She didn't even move.

Then Batman began to laugh.

But it wasn't horrible. It was utter joy, it was innocent, it was pure. The darkness arched its head and out came a laughter she thought she'd never hear again.

"SURPRISE!" The Joker yelled.

And she screamed.

------------------

Next and Final Chapter Coming Soon.


	5. The Day She Laughed

Like a cloak the Joker tore off his disguise. As if he was parting his ways with the very darkness, a Batman costume fell to the floor below, and there stood the Joker in all his glory. A pure smile, eyes wide open and so very focused on only her, a purple suit and everything. He was there, standing in front her, perfectly fine. He held up his arms and took a bow, and began to clap for himself and laugh for himself.

"You did so wonderful!" He told her. "I didn't think it'd be that good!"

Her knees buckled below her, that one scream took everything else she had out of her. She couldn't even look up at him, she stared at the floor. She looked a fraction of herself. Pathetically wet from her own tears, make up a day old smearing all over her face. Her hair still in patches of green. A torn and used up suit. Now all she could do was look to the ground.

It took him a moment to realize she was so silent.

"Hm?" He bent down to her, and lifted her chin. "Harley?"

Her lip quivered and her eyes shook.

"Was that you screaming?" The Joker asked.

He was so happy, so very happy, but she was too tired to even fake a smile for him.

She had once said to Batman she remembered like it was a far off memory, she had told him once that the Joker seems only able to remember a day perfectly and must put forth an effort to remember more than that, and usually doesn't have the focus to. It wasn't a memory problem but a mental, that he could just not handle more than a day. And so each day he was something different, he was only reacting to what was happening then and there.

But he always loved her, she hoped, that was the constant despite himself, that was it. But if he loved her, if he even somewhat cared about her, how could he have done this?

"Why'd you scream, kiddo?"

She tried to make words come out of her mouth, but merely noises were made. She was fighting screaming and crying and trying to speak all at the same time. She began to heave and shake and Joker sat down beside her and smiled.

"I did what you asked, kid." He said. "You told me remember? I didn't at first, but I did remember! I thought you were joking, right? But you weren't, you really wanted to be like me, you really wanted to so I'm making you, and we're almost done, kid, we're almost done."

It was all a plan. A trap set against her. He had faked his death, he had dressed up like Batman, he had chased her here all so she could become like him. She was overwhelmed with a sense of appreciation and love, but this was drowned out by her sheer exhaustion. It was a plan. It was fake. It was fake.

And now as she stared up at those happy eyes in the dark circles that was his eyelids, as she listened to that joyful laugh that she had so lived to hear, she regretted everything. Everything with him, everything that ever had to do with him, she regretted. She was thrown back to the moment she decided she was going to see him, to attempt to be his psychologist. They told her that day, you don't want him, they said that to her. He's not for rookies, they told her, he drives half the people he meets crazy, they said. They were going to give her Ivy, they wanted her to have someone simpler, but no, she said. She told them no, she was so confident back then. She was so strong back then, she didn't think anything in the world could have stopped her.

And she regretted it. A sudden urge to vomit came when she realized how many people she had killed in his name, but nothing came because she had not eaten in those days.

She wanted to scream again, as she looked up at him, not as a lover, but as a killer. As a psycho, and she truly feared for her life. She wanted to run, get away, run as fast as she could to get away. Those happy eyes, looked so sinister now. That joyful smile, so vile now. That laughter rang and hurt her ears.

"Yeah! So I made all this up for you." He went on, nodding and smiling like boys do.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, and it made her shudder in fear.

"Cause kid, let me tell you, let me tell you." He said.

Stop calling me kid, she thought as she helplessly stared at her new found captor.

"When you're like me, if you want to become like me, you have to lose everything. One bad day is all it takes to make a man like me. But you're special, so I made it a couple days!" he smiled like he had done her a favor. "And see, you even look like me now!"

She thought perhaps he'd done something to her, drugged her to make her love him. She felt almost as if it were a dream, a nightmare that she was going to wake up to. She'd awake in her apartment that she had years ago, with no blood on her hands, waking for another day at work at Arkham.

"So I had to take everything away from you, kiddo. And I know that's hard, but you were fantastic, wonderful, brilliant almost!" He said. "You have it kid, that thing, that it thing, you really do!" He was happy.

He was so happy he'd finally found someone to be like him.

"So now here we are." He waved his arm around the place and her helpless eyes followed them. "The place where I was born."

He went and hugged the floor, and kissed its surface.

"My birthplace." He said. "My mother, my father, my family." He said. "My childhood was spent crawling away before the cops showed up, and hiding in the shadows until my old skin flaked off, and the burning stopped." He said with only joy. "As a teenager I went through my whole rebellious stage as I saw my reflection for the first time and screamed. I didn't understand see, I didn't get it yet, it was still new to me, you know, like any teenager. Then I grew up, yes, a day later, I grew up, and here we are."

He voice filled with nostalgia. Then he rose up and stood on all fours to have an even eye level with her.

"Here you will be born too." He nodded with excitement. "You just have to jump in, kid, hold your breath too or else you'll drown, and crawl your way out. Go and hide until your old skin flakes off, scream when you see yourself, and I'll be here, right here waiting for you."

He crawled closer to her, his gaze becoming deeper and deeper. Until finally his breath went down her neck and his lips scraped against her own. She gasped and pulled her face away, shutting her eyes against him, and despite herself she began to shake.

"Harley…?" Joker asked.

He leaned in closer and moved his head to meet in her new eye level.

"What's wrong?" He asked, his voice almost sounded concerned. "Kid, please, what's wrong?"

He leaned in again to kiss her but she looked away.

"This isn't funny, what's wrong!?" He asked, distressed.

She looked at him, and a growing pain surged through her. It made her toes tingle and her heart pound against her ribs. Until a noise began to gain inside her, and she could no longer keep her lips closed. She screamed. She screamed and tears came. She screamed and screamed and screamed. Fear and terror poured out of her lungs, so afraid, she was so afraid of him.

And he jumped at her scream, and was then too afraid, slowly crawling away from her.

"GET AWAY!" She screamed at him. "GET AWAY FROM ME, DON'T TOUCH ME!" She shook her head and her tears flew from her face. "PLEASE!"

His face was full of confusion. He didn't know what went wrong. He looked at this girl, and he didn't see Harley Quinn anymore, and it scared him.

"Get away!" She continued.

"You…you…you…" He tried to find the words. "You, you, you, wretch!" He screamed. "What have you done to Harley!? What did you do to her!?"

He rose to his knees and made a fist, and it made her scream louder.

"PLEASE! NO! DON'T HURT ME, DON'T HURT ME!" She pleaded.

"Stop it!" He grabbed her. "Stop it right now!"

"PLEASE! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!"

He began shaking her violently.

"I said STOP IT!" He told her.

"PLEASE! GET AWAY FROM ME!"

He punched her and she fell over unconscious.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He didn't understand. It was almost beyond him to understand. It scared him for a moment. It wasn't Harley, she wasn't Harley anymore. She was going to be like him, she was going to laugh like him, but now she couldn't. He had to admit he wanted her to be like him. And he cursed himself for letting this happen, letting him have these feelings that can only end in this sort of pain. His focus should not be on weather Harley was Harley anymore but to Batman.

He was so upset with her and himself he had to go and kill a bunch of people he didn't even know. He actually went looking for the scum of the town and killed. He went and killed a man in his car, and put Harley in the trunk. He went apartment shopping by killing people looking at their lofts, and moving on. Finally he had settled in a place downtown, it was smaller, and he and Harley were forced into the same space. He had not cleaned the blood off his hands, he allowed it to dry and bath him almost in it.

He had noticed a change in himself recently. He knew he didn't really like to remember stuff, so he was sure this change was older than he believed. He'd almost forgotten what it was like, to have someone in your life you actually didn't want to die before it was their time. He didn't like the feeling at all, in fact it made him sick most of the time. But day after each day that he recalled he found himself hoping that Harley didn't die that day. It felt so familiar once he had it, once he grasped it.

You don't ask about love, he told her, but he feels perhaps that maybe he did love someone before all this. He can't quite remember really, but surely he did feel love before his new life, because now he recognizes it. He didn't like it. It was a distraction, a weakness. Though his thoughts had yet to stray to anything sexual and remained purely of an affectionate manner, he feared them growing.

And it was all because he had to worry about her. He had taught her as much as a sane person pretending to be insane could have been taught. Yet it was still not enough to calm him, to truly protect her. So he decided once she asked he'd make her like him. Then he wouldn't have to worry at all about her! The care would diminish, and the two would remain together without fear for one another! Without distraction or anything like that!

He was watching her sleep, wondering what went wrong.

He had made her food for when she woke up.

He had put a blanket over her to keep her warm.

And he sat there watching.

She looked so beautiful, with that green hair, even if the dye work was mediocre at best.

Then she began to stir, and he almost jumped, fearing she would scream again. Instead she kicked away her blankets and shook her head into the waking world. She stretched out her delicate hands and arched her back until it cracked. She made little mumbles and noises that waking lovers make.

"Harley…?" he asked.

She gasped and sprung up. To not scare her he didn't move. Even as she jumped out of her bed and around him. She tripped and began to crawl, hitting his suitcase of what little he owned.

It was dark and he couldn't see exactly what she was doing, but she moved violently, afraid.

"Harley, please…" He turned, and she jumped.

He began walking towards her and she curled up and coward.

"I'll kill you." He began pulling out a gun.

He dragged his feet against his new loft's carpet flooring. Slowly did he make his way towards her. She shivered still, afraid of him. He put his gun to her face and stared at the shines in her eyes for it was all he could see of her. He waited for a moment, just to see if she'd come back.

But she only kept shivering.

He sighed before he pulled the trigger. He thought he was so close, and thought she had done so very well.

Then she through a pie into his face.

She had gotten it from his case while he had taken so long to walk over to her. The pie was cold from its time in the case. It stuck to his face because of this, and he breathed in its toppings. Slowly he felt gravity take it and it finally fell to the floor, while most of it stayed on his face.

He looked down at her, and she laughed. She jumped up and hugged him, and laughed. A laugh that sounded so very familiar to him, a laugh full of utter joy, an innocent laugh, a pure laugh. It was his own, and it filled him with such a warm feeling he could not help but laugh with her.

She had done it in the end. She didn't need to go jump into a vat of chemicals to bleach her skin and dye her hair green. She was better than he in that sense, she didn't need to even do that, she had lost everything she had before hand. She had gone mad before it all, she had only fallen asleep and was replaced with a saner part of herself. But she was only sleeping, his Harley, the Harley he made in his own image, she was awake, and she was there before him, hugging him.

He dropped his gun and wrapped his arms around her. They laughed together, caught in each other's own joy. This was their laugh, a laugh that would never end. They were alike now, they were together truly now. Neither loved the other and neither went on without being loved. This was the method of the madness.

Harley Quinn sincerely laughed for the first time in so many horrible years. And that life she had before seemed so distant and alien now. Yet her future seemed so clear. And Joker himself, so clear. She understood now, unlike she had before. She got it, she got the joke of it all, she got the punch line of the universe.

She laughed.

He kissed her.

"You taste like pie, Mr. J!"

"I'd assume so, kid." He giggled.

"Heeeey, I gots an idea, puddin'! A wonderful, hilarious idea."

"Oh? Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me!"

"Let's go kill Batman, just like yous always wanted!"

Laughter filled them.

The end.


End file.
